New York Nights (Heart of the City #2)(21)

I laughed. 'Grace, keep still!'

I felt a nudge to my upper arm and did a double-take to the outstretched bottle, this time full of formula rather than water. Even though it was only the back of Ben's hand touching me, it felt like an electric shock, and I had to concentrate on my next breath.

I went to take the bottle but he pulled it away. 'No, it's okay, I've got this,' he said.

I pressed the last of Grace's studs together. 'Okay, well, I'm going out for dinner tonight.' I picked her up and handed her to Ben.

'I thought you didn't have any friends in New York?'

I frowned. 'I don't. You don't need to have friends to go out for dinner.'

Ben's mouth twitched as he tried not to smile.

'What?' I asked, getting annoyed. I may be rather tragic without any friends, but if I was going to have my last night of freedom for an entire week, I was going to search for a meal and save myself from another awkward dinner for two.

He shook his head. 'Wow.'

'Wow, what?'

'You really don't want to be alone with me in that kitchen.'

My mouth gaped and I felt heat flood my cheeks, not knowing how to respond.

'No.' I half-laughed, sounding so not convincing.

'You sure about that?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Because, you know that last night  … '

Oh god, here we go, here came the speech, the one that I had been successfully avoiding all day and was more than happy to avoid for the rest of my life.

'Did you want me to bring you something back?' I blurted clumsily.

Ben's mouth shut abruptly as if his train of thought had been derailed. 'Oh, um, no thanks.'

'Okay, well, just text if you change your mind,' I said cheerily as I left him with Grace in the nursery, my fake smile falling as I turned away, breathing a sigh of relief at another bullet dodged.

One more day. One more day and he would be back at work.



       
         
       
        



I had no agenda, so when I stumbled across a line outside of Momouns on St Mark's Place I decided to be adventurous. And if it was a cheap meal on the go (as I overheard the woman next to me tell her friend), then all the better. I was proud of my adjustment to the bustling life of the city. I had gone from small country town girl to true New Yorker; well, kind of  …  actually, not really. A visit to Tiffany's and a trip to Central Park does not a New Yorker make.

Edging my way in, I received a friendly hello from a man I assumed was the owner.

I had done some research by taking note of what people around me were having, so I skim-read the boards and then said, 'Can I have one chicken kebab and one shawarma, please.'

Once I got my hands on the mouthwatering morsels, I walked out of the shop and found a place to perch in the dying rays of the day. Both the kebab and the shawarma were equally amazing. The flavour and seasoning were perfection, and Momouns' signature hot sauce provided an appropriate kick. I wanted to fist pump, I was so happy.

But of course, all good things must come to an end. As I sat in the afterglow of my dinner, my phone started to ring. I knew only one person had this number, and, sure enough, Ben's name flashed on the screen. Panic ran through me.

'If this is a late dinner request, I hope you like Middle Eastern?' I tried for humour.

'I told you I didn't want anything,' Ben said, annoyed.

Well, this was going well.

'Okay,' I said, waiting for him to come to the point. Surely if he needed something there would be a magical app he could touch instead of resorting to calling me? He never called me, ever. He wasn't trying to carry on the 'talk', was he?

'Are you going to be late tonight?' he asked, speaking as abruptly as I had heard him speak to his business associates.

I frowned. 'Well, after I finish my dinner, I'm going clubbing till sun up, might even do a good ol' walk of shame.'

There was silence, as if he was trying to work out if I was joking or not. And then I realised that probably wasn't the smartest thing to say. I was not some young girl who randomly hooked up with people in kitchens or at clubs and I didn't want Ben to think otherwise.

'I've got work in the morning,' he pointed out, and I rolled my eyes.

'I know, and I won't be late.'

I had planned on heading back after dinner  –  I was only a ten-minute walk away  –  but now I wanted to stay out a little longer. Well, until the sun went fully down anyway. After all, I was a single woman  –  I had to have a life outside of being an au pair, there had to be a balance.

'Well, just be quiet when you come in, I've just put Grace down so  … ' 

Okay, now I was annoyed. I wasn't an airhead. One weekend of partial caring for Grace and he was suddenly dishing out advice.

'Will do!' I said, trying to keep my annoyance in check as I began to wrap this awkward, wooden conversation up. But before I had the chance to hang up and truly escape unscathed, Ben continued speaking.

'Sorry, what did you say?' I asked.

'I said, when you get back, come to the third floor, there are a few things I want to talk about.'

The 'talk'. On the forbidden third floor, of all places. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth. This could not be happening. Maybe I would go clubbing.

'Okay,' I said, trying to sound like it was no big deal when all I could think of was maybe faking food poisoning, or a case of sunstroke from our outing today.

'Well, see you in a bit,' I said, and just as I hung up the phone, a momentary lapse of concentration saw the remnants of my dinner falling off my lap. They landed on the grubby New York City pavement where the three-second rule absolutely did not apply.

'No!' I cried out at the disaster at my feet.

Okay, now I was pissed off.



I took my time by admiring the lights of the Washington Arch while indulging in a peppermint ice cream, but even with the serenity of such a place, my mind was troubled the whole way home. I walked into Ben's townhouse to find the lower floor in muted lamplight, just as it had been last night; it gave me a certain chill regardless of the warm, welcoming feel. I had turned the ten-minute walk into an hour-long one to delay the inevitable, but now had to drag myself up the stairs to the mysterious third floor.

He had told me not to make a noise when I came in and yet I could hear music: Pink Floyd's 'Comfortably Numb'. Along with the brighter light that glowed on the third-floor landing, the first time I had seen it that way, the music made the usually quiet, soulless house feel very much alive.

I crept onto the landing, then stood slightly to the side to watch Ben. He stood before a library, but not your typical library: this was a wall of records. Unaware of my presence, he was singing under his breath, wearing the thick-rimmed glasses that made him look less businessman and more sexy nerd, reading the back of a record cover. This particular look on him made certain parts of me react. All I wanted to do was to fog up his glasses in the naughtiest of ways.

The third floor didn't reflect any other part of the house. It was open and broody with copper light fittings and navy-and-ochre furnishings; sexy and masculine, like him. A leather chair with a matching leather ottoman sat with a floor lamp directly behind it and a pile of records on a side table. One glimpse into Ben's room and I had learnt more about him than I had in a whole week. I had obviously stumbled across Ben's favourite pastime.

'Good thing there's a vinyl revival happening,' I said, causing Ben to look at me in the doorway.

'Nothing to revive. It never went anywhere for me,' he said. He put the cover down, and turned his full focus on me, which only made me more reluctant to enter. If being in the kitchen was awkward, being in Ben's room, near his luxurious king-size leather bed, was damn well unnerving. I walked in the opposite direction of the bed, even though I wanted to dive on it like a big kid.

The third floor resembled more of an apartment than a bedroom. A beautiful marbled bathroom opened into the main room  –  no modesty barriers like doors or walls here  –  as did the enormous walk-in wardrobe, which was bigger than my childhood bedroom.

I nodded in appreciation. 'Nice man cave,' I said, thinking how much it differed from any man cave I had known. I thought of my dad's shed at home where he kept his old vinyl records, next to the collection of road signs he had pilfered over the years working for the local shire council. Yeah, opposite ends of the spectrum.



       
         
       
        

Ben watched me with interest, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 'It's just a room.'

'Oh, it's a little more than that,' I said. 'Still, I'm a bit relieved  –  at least there's no sex dungeon on the mysterious third floor.' I could honestly have kicked myself; when I'm nervous I tend to make jokes: inappropriate, unfunny jokes of the most tragic kind. Now Ben was thinking that I was thinking that's what was on the third floor, like he was some kind of sexual deviant. I prayed the ground would open up. Then I saw a slow smile spread across his face.

'Nah, the sex dungeon is on the lower level.'

His words made me feel slightly less embarrassed. 'Oh, you mean the "media" room?'

'Yeah.' He laughed. 'That's the one.'

Were we talking about this now? I would have given anything for a subject change, until of course it happened.

'Take a seat.' Ben gestured to the chair opposite him, near the empty fireplace. It wouldn't be difficult to imagine how amazing this room would be in the wintertime. Leather chairs next to the open fire, sumptuous rug, a tray full of liquor and crystal tumblers; it was a classy, sexy room.